


Teeth Marks of Time

by madame_meretrix (laisserais)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-06
Updated: 2007-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/madame_meretrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>The Set-up</b>: Jeff gives Jensen and Jared what they want. Sometimes giving means taking.<br/><b>Betas</b>: The incomparable <span><a href="http://apreludetoanend.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://apreludetoanend.livejournal.com/"><b>apreludetoanend</b></a></span> and <span></span><a href="http://yourlibrarian.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://yourlibrarian.livejournal.com/"><b>yourlibrarian</b></a>. Thank you, ladies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teeth Marks of Time

  
  


* * *

  
**Teeth Marks of Time**   


Jeff Morgan has always reckoned that he's a fortunate man.

Or, to put it a different way, he's always had the good sense to be grateful for what he gets.

For a long time now, he's liked to think of his life as a road. Maybe like Highway One when it gets snaky there on the way up from Big Sur to the California/Oregon border. How it hugs tight to sheer cliffs and clings to mountainsides. Like any good road, his life comes equipped with signs. _Watch Out for Falling Rocks; Slow for the Curve; Detour._

What he likes most about the life-as-a-road metaphor is that he’s the driver. And like any good driver, it's up to him to either heed the signs on his own personal road or ignore them at his own peril. He likes to think he's learned how to pay attention to the signs by now.

He feels like a brave man for following his own road. For going where it leads him. _Fortune favors the brave_ and all that. Like Aeneas -- the first man to heed that advice -- his road is long, but he has no doubt that he'll get to Rome eventually.

Anyway, he feels grateful for the signs and the ability to read them. In his forty years he's gotten pretty good at it.

He still thinks that, even as he catches sight of a new sign.

Fortune, or fate, or whoever it is that's in charge of these things, sets two boys on his road. Boys with hands that move in thoughtless grace and eyes that flash with promise.

And if he’s Aeneas, then they're Romulus and Remus, two brothers raised in a den of wolves. He's been watching them out of the corner of his eye. They're perfect, and they don't even know it. Young. Flawless. Puzzled by the world's adoration but taking it in stride.

Jeff has never expected to be made immortal or anointed with nectar and ambrosia. Never expected to come across a treasure on his road; something so precious it's too dangerous to keep. Unless this, right here, is it.

If this, right here, is the sign.

Jeff’s a practical man. Grateful for what he gets and doesn't ask for more. And so when the question is posed he thinks he understands.

Peanut shells on the floor, the smell of old beer and sweat. The kind of light that's yellowed with age like it takes longer to get here than it does anywhere else.

A creaking shift, the hollow thud of an empty glass on thick wood. "Let's go."

And when they're touching behind the table, leaning in close and laughing at his jokes; when Jensen's whispering dirty-minded secrets in every word and Jared's nudging his shoulder like he's the greatest thing in a long time, well…yeah.

He follows. Of course he follows. Because Jeff is all right. Yeah, Jeff can do pretty well for himself; he does just fine. But he’s a grateful man, and he knows how to read the signs.

Man-made lines are a challenge to a self-made man. He can't let it lie there. Because, well, when it comes down to it -- it's a challenge, and he’s a man.

The lines narrow ahead of him as the city blocks slip behind on a grey evening in September, and he follows red tail lights out onto another blind road, lured by the siren call: _let's go_.

Wolves have teeth and so does time. Troy needed to fall before Rome could be born. That took a while, or so he hears, but the moment isn't going to wait for him.

And so with zero guile he follows their lead, follows the gesture to follow. Into the house, shaded with night, and then into a room that’s quiet. He falters there, in the doorway, watching their smiles and feeling the tension rise up within him.

The questions of what it all means, and what's going to happen next -- those can wait. They're not his questions to ask and he can't answer them. He can't see past this curve, so he keeps the words unsaid as he walks into the room and shuts the door.

Roads are just roads. They lead to cities and disappear, double back, return to where they begin. Time is a road that carries no malice, though it looks cruel to a traveler who can only see what's behind him.

He wonders about his own personal Troy, and then he puts it aside, kneels on the bed, unbuckling his belt. "Get undressed."

Wolves, teeth, time…convoluted mythologies that bend but will not break beneath his hands. An invitation is always a challenge, and what they're asking of him is to ask himself what he wants.

What Jeff wants above all is his bread without the circus.

In time, their city will fall and make room for a new empire that will rise from their dust. But right now -- right here and now -- feral boys need a guide. Need a sign to see their fortune.

And Jeff, he can be that. He can follow their lead, and lead them to the next bend in the road where they already know they're going.

 _Get undressed_. A simple request made in an even voice, and even Rome has to fall.

* * *


End file.
